


Marjorie Diaz's Unfortunate Introduction to Short Stories

by ASingleWhiteDoe



Series: Marjorie Diaz's Unfortunate Introduction to the World [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Also everyone is gay, College Story, F/F, F/M, Fluffy and Romantic, Nerd Culture, New Adult, Overwatch - Freeform, a bunch of cool people, and there's fro-yo, do dumb things, long short story, now a published series of novels, these characters are disasters, video games - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 09:57:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19354663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ASingleWhiteDoe/pseuds/ASingleWhiteDoe
Summary: Marjorie Diaz has no idea who this guy is. He saunters into their senior seminar class right before the professor starts teaching. The professor only barely glances at him and he offers her a disarming smile, pushing his black hair out of his face with his hand. She is immediately and irrationally angry about his entire existence.





	Marjorie Diaz's Unfortunate Introduction to Short Stories

**Author's Note:**

> This actually is the short story that launched my Marjorie Diaz series which is based on a flash fiction I wrote in 2015 based on a weird dream.
> 
> To my Patrick:  
> Thank you for being such a giant asshole  
> That I had to write a story about you

Marjorie Diaz has no idea who this guy is. He saunters into their senior seminar class right before the professor starts teaching. The professor only barely glances at him and he offers her a disarming smile, pushing his black hair out of his face with his hand.

He winks in Marjorie's direction when he notices her watching as well. His smile widens, eyes crinkling at the edges and dimples forming in his cheeks. Marjorie rolls her eyes.

She guesses that's probably why they were assigned to the same group project. This was some sort of sick penance for her utter disdain for whatever breed of fuckboy this is. She's never worked with him before, and she doesn't need to, she already knows exactly what he is.

"Hi," he says, brown eyes shining as he extends his hand in her direction, "I'm Patrick Watkins." He has a slight lilting English accent.

"Marjorie Diaz." She shakes his hand with a frown.

"Pleased to meet you."

She narrows her eyes at him.

"Is something the matter?" He asks, his lips twitching downwards.

Marjorie shakes her head and sighs. "No, let's just start working on this. The sooner we decide our strategies the better."

She's never had a class with him and she's never seen him on campus, yet according to his incessant rambling, they've been in the same major for the past four years. Now she has the privilege of working with him on the dumbest project she's probably ever been assigned.

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

He's funny, and not just fuckboy funny. That's something that surprises her. His laugh makes goosebumps erupt on her skin and he's suddenly all sarcasm and wit and completely irresistible. She feels the telltale weight of unwanted attraction when it settles in the pit of her stomach, and it makes her feel sick.

She knows he has a girlfriend, she sees her every day before he walks into class. She's petite and otherworldly beautiful. Her hair is a cloud of tight kinky curls that frames her angular face perfectly. Her eyes are amber and the edges of her lips always quirk upwards into the most beautiful smile Marjorie has ever seen. The sight of her twists something deep inside of her stomach, but she pushes it down deep where she doesn't have to deal with it. It wouldn't be so hard to forget this guy. He's not so smart, not so attractive, and he seems a little lazy.

The weight is still there every time he laughs or when they share a look across the classroom, but this is something she can ignore.

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

When his girlfriend Adorara rushes into the bathroom crying, she doesn't think much of it. In fact, she plans on leaving as soon as she flushes. She can see Adorara through the space in the door of the bathroom stall and it doesn't look pretty. Marjorie stands and her hand hovers over the flusher when she hears Adorara talking quickly into her mobile.

"I don't know how much longer I can do this, Cessily," she says, her voice thick with emotion.

Marjorie can't hear what Cessily says, but she hears the tinny impression of her voice through the phone.

Adorara sniffles and hiccups. She sounds beyond worked up about whatever it is she and Cessily are talking about.

Marjorie shifts in the stall to get a better look at Adorara where she's standing in front of the mirror. Her chin is tucked low and her makeup is running down her cheeks. She tries to wipe it off with the back of her hand, but it only smudges more across her dark skin.

"Cessily," she hiccups and sobs, "I love you. I don't care what anyone thinks. I don't care if my parents want me to be with Patrick! I don't _care_ anymore."

Adorara pauses here, too torn up to continue. Her voice breaks and her mouth opens in anguish, her face screwing up as she releases a long shuddering breath. She grabs at her chest and tries desperately to calm herself down.

She's hunched over the bathroom counter now, her shoulders trembling as she sobs in earnest. It takes her a full two minutes to calm down enough to speak again. "I'm so tired," Adorara continues, her voice getting louder and more urgent with every word, "I just want to be _happy_." She barely gets the last word out, broken by a shuddering sob.

Marjorie listens to their conversation, despite the fact that it's mostly sobbing on Adorara's end. She thinks Cessily sounds concerned, even if she can't hear what she's saying. The impression of her voice through the phone is enough.

Normally Marjorie lives for any type of drama that isn't hers, but standing in the bathroom for the better part of an hour listening to her pseudo-crush's girlfriend literally have a mental breakdown is not her idea of fun. Still, she doesn't leave, she lets her cry it out and babble incoherently until she's finished.

Marjorie flushes and leaves the stall as soon as she hears the door slam shut behind her. She checks her phone while she's drying her hands. It's definitely too late for her to even bother going to class now. She skips, it's probably for the best.

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

On Tuesday he comes to class alone. Marjorie notices, but she keeps her mouth shut and stares straight ahead when he takes his seat next to her. She watches their teacher as if her rambling is the most interesting thing she's ever heard in her life. She absolutely does not want to know what is going on with Patrick. She's moved on.

She feels his eyes on her repeatedly throughout the lesson and she wishes he would stop staring. Every time his eyes settle on the side of her face is chink in her carefully crafted armor. She's absolutely dying to know if Adorara is happy now. She sort of feels like she knows her a little better now after listening to her choking sobs in the bathroom for over an hour. Her curiosity is only natural after what they went through together and has nothing to do with Patrick.

When class ends, she can't get out of there fast enough. She might be curious about what's going on with Adorara, but she definitely doesn't want to hear about it from him.

Unfortunately, Patrick can move much faster than she can.

"Marjorie!" He calls when she's at the bottom of a spiral staircase leading to the second floor. The step creaks beneath her foot, ancient wood dipping when she puts more weight on it.

She turns over her shoulder and sees him, standing at the bottom of the stairs with a soft smile on his lips.

She grips the bannister and sways a little when it fails to hold her weight. The stairs creak again, more insistent this time. She takes a deep breath and levels her gaze at him.

"I wouldn't trust that bannister," he says, his smile widening.

Marjorie smiles back, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "Ha," she says, "Yeah."

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

He doesn't bring up Adorara or Cessily or anything Marjorie is actually interested in hearing about. Instead, he suggests they start eating lunch together. He seems lonely without Adorara around, so Marjorie obliges. At first, she tries to keep their conversations strictly business and about their school project. He keeps pushing the subject towards other things, much to her everlasting annoyance.

Then, he invites her over to play video games.

"Video games?" Marjorie asks flatly, glancing up from her open textbook. There's a plate of half-eaten nachos between them.

"Yeah," he says, plucking a tortilla chip off the plate and popping it into his mouth. He waggles his eyebrows at her while he chews and cleans the cheese off of his fingers by sucking them into his mouth. "Unless you're scared I'll beat you."

Marjorie sits back in her chair and clenches her jaw. "You won't beat me," she says resolutely, her eyes narrowing.

"Oh yeah?" He asks, his eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. He leans over the table with a coy grin forming on his lips, " _Prove it._ "

So she does. She beats him at every game he suggests, multiple times, with a smile on her face.

"Bro, Pattykat," Marjorie says with a laugh after she beats the shit out of him in Tekken 6, "You _suck_ at video games."

"You know I hate it when you call me Pattykat," he said with a sigh, dropping his controller down on the table in front of them.

"No you don't," she says with a snort, followed by, "Aw, are you quitting already? I wanted to kick your ass again."

He clicks his tongue and tries to look angry, but he can't.

"I'm actually pretty hungry," he says, reaching for his controller to turn off his PlayStation.

"Ah," Marjorie says and lays her own controller on the table. She stands and stretches, cracking her back and stretching her arms over her head. "I'll head home then."

Patrick sputters for a moment, stumbling over his words. "N-no I mean, uh," he looks terrified. "Pl-please uh, er."

Marjorie stares at him, her arms still halfway over her head. "Are you having a stroke?"

"Go to dinner with me?" He asks.

Marjorie stares at him for a long moment, a skeptical look on her face. She lowers her arms. "How did you ever even get someone as hot as Adorara to date you?"

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

Dinner is a thing they do together now, same as lunch, same as video games. It gets to a point where Marjorie hasn't seen her roommate in weeks. She can't even remember what Lucian looks like anymore. She never seems to get home at a decent enough time for her best friend to be _awake_.

When they finally see each other again, bleary eyed and half awake in the kitchen searching like zombies for coffee and cereal, they're both shocked.

"Marjorie?" Lucian asks, her voice filled with sleep.

"Lucian?" Marjorie moves closer to her, hands touching Lucian's face.

"Where have you even _been_?" Lucian asks.

Marjorie squishes Lucian's cheek and grips her face in her hands. "Hell."

Lucian shoves her hands away. "Marjorie Antoinette Valentina Luciana-"

Marjorie waves her hand. "I get it, you don't have to say the whole thing."

Lucian grips Marjorie's wrists and glares at her pointedly. "Oh, I think I do, Marjorie Valentina Antoinette Luciana Giselle Mariana Fleur Diaz."

Marjorie groans and rolls her eyes. "None of those are even my actual middle name."

Lucian shrugs. "Funnier this way." She drops Marjorie's hands and backs up a few steps to grab the cereal off the counter and pour it into her bowl.

Marjorie mumbles something under her breath and walks to the freezer to grind some coffee.

"I heard that," Lucien says, grabbing the milk and dumping it into her cereal.

"No you didn't," Marjorie grumbles under the loud screech of the coffee beans grinding in the electric grinder.

"Marj," Lucian says, turning around and leaning against the counter. "Are you going to tell me where you've been these past-" she pauses to glance at the white board calendar they have hung on the wall, " _Five weeks_?"

Marjorie tenses and laughs nervously. "Would you believe I've been playing video games?"

Lucian taps her fingers against her arm. "You haven't been playing anything here."

"I know. Uh." Marjorie turns towards Lucian and sighs, "I've been playing video games with Patrick."

Lucian pauses for a moment, her brown eyes going wide. "Patrick," she says and she pushes off of the counter so hard the beads in her dreads rattle against each other. "As in Patrick from your seminar? Patrick from London? Patrick motherfucking Watkins?"

Marjorie's face heats up and she looks away. "That's the one," she says, her voice cracking.

"Marjorie," Lucian says, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "Marjorie I am your _best_ friend. I have known you since the second grade."

Marjorie doesn't say anything.

"You couldn't even call me?" Lucian asks. "Or text me? Or even send an e-mail. _Marjorie_."

"It's not that big a deal," Marjorie says dismissively.

Lucian straightens up and stares down at Marjorie looking wholly unconvinced.

"We're just playing video games and occasionally going out to dinner."

"And yet I haven't seen you in five weeks."

"I still sleep here. It's not my fault you're a granny and can't stay up past 2am."

Lucian scoffs. "I need my beauty sleep, Marj. Looking this good isn't easy."

Marjorie opens her mouth to respond, but Lucian waves her off.

"Shut up, whatever you were going to say isn't important. Tell me _everything_."

"I," Marjorie starts to say, but she's cut off by the blaring sound of Lucian's alarm.

" _Fuck_ ," Lucian growls, grabbing her phone and turning the alarm off. "I have to go to class, but you're not off the hook Marjorie! I want all the details when I get back."

Lucian turns on her heel and disappears into her room for a moment to change her clothes and grab her bag.

"I can't promise I'll be here when you get back!" Marjorie calls after her when she's opening the front door.

Lucian turns and glares at her, face serious. "If you aren't, I'm throwing all of your shit into the parking lot and setting it on fire."

"Jeez."

Lucian slams the front door behind her.

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

Her phone buzzes in her pocket while she's waiting for Lucian to come back from class. It's Patrick, because of _course_ it's Patrick.

 **Patrick:** Good Morning  
**Marjorie:** It's almost noon.

 **Patrick:** Prior to noon is still morning. Noon is also still morning. Everything is morning.  
**Marjorie:** Whatever you say.

Marjorie sets her phone down on her bed and debates on starting another pot of coffee. She already finished what she ground earlier and Lucian has classes until 3. She _could_ just take a nap. Her phone buzzes again.

 **Patrick:** I just got Overwatch.

 **Marjorie:** ...oh?

 **Patrick:** You've been talking about it nonstop for almost a week. I figured I'd give it a try.

 **Marjorie:** I still can't believe you've never played it. It's been out for almost a year, Patrick Watkins. Your ignorance for new video game franchises never ceases to amaze me.

 **Patrick:** Just come over and play this game with me.

 **Marjorie:** Can't, I'm waiting for Lucian to get back from class.

 **Patrick:** When does she get back from class?

 **Marjorie:** 3.

 **Patrick:** It's not even noon. Come play for a few hours?

 **Marjorie:** She said she'd burn my stuff if I'm not here when she gets home.

 **Patrick:** You'll be back there before 3 if I have to drive you home myself.

 **Marjorie:** We live in the same apartment complex, I'm sure I can walk.

 **Patrick:** All the more reason for you to come and play Overwatch with me.

 **Marjorie:** Fine, Watkins. I'll come fulfill your creepy fantasy of watching a girl kick your ass at video games.

 **Patrick:** Well, it doesn't really work like that. We'd have to take turns playing since there's no local two player mode.

Marjorie rolls her eyes and pulls her shoes on. She shoots a quick text to Lucian.

 **Marjorie:** Going over to Patrick's, I'll be home before you get back if it kills me.

Then, she responds to Patrick.

 **Marjorie:** I bet I'll die less times than you do.

 **Patrick:** You have to get here first.

 **Marjorie:** Whatever, Watkins. Give me fifteen minutes.

She makes it there in ten and the door is open. She walks right in, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it and her purse up on the coat rack by the door.

"Alright, Watkins. Are you ready to lose?" She turns around and sees him sitting at his dining room table with an older woman she has never seen before.

The woman looks over, her features pinched and off-putting. She looks absolutely disgusted with her and Marjorie quickly checks herself to make sure she didn't accidentally put on the same shirt she stained with grease from Chinese food a few days ago.

"Um, hi," Marjorie says with a little wave. "I didn't expect anyone else to be here."

She glances at Patrick and he looks like he's at a complete loss for words.

The woman's frown deepens, lines appearing at the sides of her mouth and curving downwards towards her chin. She looks incredibly unpleasant.

"Cool. Looks like you're busy dude." Marjorie laughs nervously and gestures towards the door with her thumbs. "I'm just gonna get out of your hair."

She backs up towards the door awkwardly, almost tripping over a pair of black pumps next to the shoe rack on her way there. "Fuuu--" she starts, catching herself on the door before she tumbles down onto the ground. "Fun times."

She throws her coat over her arm and grabs her purse. When she opens the door, back turned to them. The woman finally speaks. "Honestly, Patrick. Is this why I had to hear about you and Adorara splitting up from the Chibuzo family?" Her accent is posh and polished and reserved.

She pauses and waits for him to respond.

"Where did you even find this one? The Big Lots?"

The door clicks shut behind her audibly and she makes her way back to her apartment. She has no idea what any of that was about, but she _knows_ that woman isn't talking about her. No one could _possibly_ be that rude.

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

"Good, you're still here," Lucian says when she comes in sometime around 3:30.

"'Course I am," Marjorie says from where she's slowly sinking into the couch playing Destiny. "Told you I would be."

"Considering you're never home anymore I wasn't sure if you would keep your word." Lucian plops down on the couch next to her. "Let's play some dumb game like Bomberman or something."

Marjorie hits save and smirks at her. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"We can talk while I blow your ass to hell in this stupid ancient game."

"Ha. Fat chance." Marjorie goes back to the home screen and opens up a shitty free remastering of the classic PS1 game, Bomberman. Lucian grabs the second controller and turns it on.

"So you and Patrick have been hanging out for five whole weeks now." Lucian plants a bomb directly behind Marjorie, she kicks it away and it blows up somewhere at the top of the screen.

"Actually." Marjorie drags the word out and winces, planting a double bomb and blocking Lucian in. She uses a power up and laughs when Marjorie's plot to blow her up fails miserably.

"Actually?" Lucian asks, prompting the conversation to continue.

"It's been more like five months."

Lucian turns and gapes at her. "MARJORIE HOPELYN ALEJANDRA DIAZ!" She screams and yanks the controller out of her hands, pressing pause on their game.

Marjorie winces and ducks her head.

"I am your _best friend_ ," Lucian is yelling so loud their next door neighbor is probably going to complain. That's not a surprise though, Katelyn has been a thorn in both their asses since they moved here.

Lucian lowers her voice before she continues. "This is something you _tell_ your best friend. You've only been lusting after him since day one of the first semester!"

"I wouldn't say _lusting_ ," Marjorie argues, "I don't exactly _lust_ after anyone. I mean, he's kind of dumb and a little bit lazy. He's cute and all, but I don't think he checks all of my boxes. He doesn't even know what he wants to do with his degree. For now I'm sort of just having fun hanging out with him."

"You're forgetting that I follow you on tumblr, _chika_ ," Lucian says pointedly, "There was definitely an influx of angsty romantic songwriting and story sharing after you first mentioned him. _And_ promptly found out he had a girlfriend. What happened to her, by the way?"

"I assume they broke up," Marjorie says, pursing her lips.

"Assume?" Lucian asks. "You assume or you _know_? Because guys can be such assholes, Marjorie."

Marjorie frowns. "I know."

"You know guys can be assholes or you know that he and his girlfriend broke up?"

"I know they broke up."

"And he told you this?"

"Not exactly," Marjorie says wincing, "but he sort of didn't have to."

Lucian stares at her, completely unimpressed.

"I sort of overheard his girlfriend having a mental breakdown in Johnson Hall. She was on the phone with someone named Cessily. A girl she's apparently in love with."

"She just made a scene in the middle of Johnson Hall?" Lucian asked.

"Well, no. She was in the bathroom."

Lucian narrows her eyes. "Did you stalk this poor girl into the bathroom?"

"No!" Marjorie shouts a little too loud. Their neighbor Katelyn bangs on the wall, _hard_.

She lowers her voice to a whisper before she continues. "I was sort of already in there when she came in and locked the door. I didn't want to disturb her so I hung out in the bathroom awkwardly scrolling through tumblr with my feet on the toilet. She cried incoherently into her phone for a whole hour. I missed my class and everything."

"Oh my crabs, Marjorie that is simultaneously the saddest and most hilarious thing I have ever heard. Holy shit."

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Two days pass and she doesn't hear from him. It's unusual, but she doesn't push it. He seems like he has a lot to deal with in the wake of the mystery posh woman and she isn't going to let that ruin her weekend.

Not when studying for Midterms can ruin her weekend instead. She's been in the library for the better part of four hours, taking notes until her fingers start to bleed. She doesn't need to do exceptionally well on any of these midterms, she could squeak by with a C and still walk out of here in May with her diploma. However, she would much rather work hard now than wait for the end of the semester when she can hardly function.

"You should take a break," Patrick says, dropping to the seat beside her as if no time has passed.

Marjorie jerks in surprise and nearly falls out of her chair.

Patrick holds back a laugh. "Careful," he says, reaching out and gripping her elbow to steady her.

"Holy _crabs_ you scared the shit out of me," Marjorie gasps, clutching at her chest.

"Holy crabs?" he asks, sounding amused.

Marjorie doesn't respond, she merely gives him an unenthused look and grabs her highlighter off of the table.

Patrick puts a hand on her arm. "Come play Overwatch with me."

"I can't I have to study."

"You need a break."

"I _need_ to study."

"It's been hours."

"I need to pass my midterms if I have any hope of graduating with a three-'oh."

"You have an A in almost every class, Marjorie," Patrick argues, "come play Overwatch with me."

Marjorie sighs and drops her highlighter on the table. It makes a clattering sound and startles a few of the other students nearby. "Fine," she relents.

Patrick smiles at her.

He beats her death to kill streak more than she's willing to admit.

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The semester is almost over, final exams and senior projects looming over the horizon. Marjorie can hardly believe she's almost made it through undergrad completely. She and Lucian spend a lot of late nights sitting around their tiny kitchen table, drinking coffee, and studying until their eyes blur and their teeth set on edge. Most of the time they fall asleep there.

Patrick has sort of gotten used to the idea of never seeing her. She gets a little crazy during finals. He shows up at their apartment every now and then to make sure she's taking a much needed break from studying.

So when she and Lucian forget to lock their front door and pass out face down in a heap of textbooks and notes, he's there. He looms over them, casting a shadow over empty energy drink cans like some sort of anti-studying angel.

"Marjorie," he says, shaking her shoulder.

Next to her, Lucian groans.

"Lucian." He shakes her shoulder next. She shoves his hand away..

"Cripes you two need a break."

"Shut up," Marjorie mumbles into her notebook, "'m trying to sleep."

"You're drooling all over your notes," Patrick says.

Marjorie and Lucian both sit up immediately and stare down at the smudged ink from last night's notes.

"Damn," Lucian says, scrubbing her cheek and examining her hand. "Got ink on my face too."

Marjorie whines halfheartedly. "I just wanna go to bed."

She and Lucian stand up from the table and walk like zombies back to their respective bedrooms, slamming the doors shut behind them.

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Marjorie and Patrick have to present their final project tomorrow, but instead of spending hours prepping and last minute tweaking they're taking turns playing Overwatch. Neither of them are really speaking other than to yell at the TV screen.

"So," he says after hours of prolonged silence and game related screaming.

"So," Marjorie replies. Her voice is strained, her grip tight on the controller as she tries and fails to kill the other team's stupid Bastion.

"So there's this ball," he says like it's the most natural thing anybody could ever say.

Her Orisa dies when she turns to look at him in surprise. She doesn't move after she respawns, the game only has a few seconds left anyways.

"What? Bro we've been hanging out for almost 7 months, we haven't even kissed yet. The fuck do you mean 'there's a ball'?"

" _Overtime_ ," the game announces and Marjorie is momentarily distracted as she moves Orisa from the base back out to the objective.

"I wasn't sure you wanted to," he trails off, frowning.

"Wanted to what?" She asks, shooting the shit out of the other team's Widowmaker. Bitch had been spawn sniping the entire game and she was tired of it.

"Do that kind of stuff with me."

Marjorie has Orisa toss up a barrier to protect her team and lets herself look over to where Patrick is worrying the hem of his red t-shirt. Nervous sweat beads on his tan skin, his mouth morphing into a grimace.

"Well maybe I don't," Marjorie says, turning back to the game just in time to throw down another barrier and take the killing blow on the other team's D.Va.

He gapes at her out of the corner of her eye.

"I'm not sure I want to ever make out with some dude who is going to randomly invite me to a 'ball'. Who does that? People who aren't normal."

Victory flashes across the screen and Marjorie drops the controller on the coffee table. "Are you even serious right now, Patrick? A _ball_?"

"Well it's really more of a masquerade-"

"Holy shit you _are_ serious."

"And it's a charity event my family throws every year-"

"Holy fucking shit."

"I'm sort of expected to bring a date, considering-"

"I cannot believe you're still talking about this."

"My family is hosting the event. I used to bring Adorara to these things, but-"

"Patrick oh my fuck I cannot believe this is actually a real thing that you are suggesting to me right now."

"We aren't together anymore. She seems a lot happier now though." He smiles softly.

"Who even are you? What kind of person's family throws a fucking masquerade ball?"

"I would really love it if you would accompany me to this masquerade, Marjorie." He looks at her, eyes soft and pleading.

"Dude I don't know," she says, a new Overwatch game flashes on the screen, but neither of them move to pick up the controller just yet. "I didn't sign up for this. I just wanted to play video games and maybe make out a little."

"What charity is it for?"

"What?" He asks, surprised.

"You said it was a charity event, Pattykat, what charity?"

"Oh, it's Art For Youth."

She pauses for a moment, studying him. "Will there be actual art there?"

"Of course."

"In addition to people dressed up in frilly dresses and masks?"

"Yep."

Marjorie narrows her eyes at him and purses her lips. "Alright."

A slow smile spreads across his face.

"Whatever, loser, don't look at me like that," she says, shoving his cheek, "You're lucky I like art. And masquerades."

  ☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾☆☾  

"I cannot believe you're going to a ball. Like this is some sort of weird fairytale bullshit," Lucian says, watching her try on another dress.

"I know," Marjorie says, examining herself in the mirror.

"That dress is terrible," Lucian says.

"I know," Marjorie says again with a sigh. She disappears back into the dressing room.

"This is the weirdest thing anyone has ever told me in my life," Lucian continues, talking louder so Marjorie can hear her in the dressing room.

Marjorie laughs. "Now all I need are some helpful animals to make these dresses less shitty." She checks the price tag on one of the less horrible looking dresses and sighs. "Or more affordable."

"I feel like if I'd want animals to make anything cheaper it would be college, our rent, and my car payment. Not clothing to go to some weird fairytale-esque ball."

Marjorie laughs. "I think we're done here though, Lucian. I doubt I'm going to find anything to wear to a quote-fairytale ball-unquote at a discount dress store."

"You could just go naked."

Marjorie guffaws.

"What? It worked for the emperor in _The Emperor's New Clothes_."

"I doubt that would go over well in whatever high society hell this is. Books are not like real life."

"I'd say your life is pretty similar to a book, or a short story at the very least. I mean, a freaking _ball_ , Marjorie."

"Yeah, yeah," she says, changing back into her regular clothes and grabbing the multitude of terrible dresses she tried on to go hang them back up.

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Twenty stores later and no dress to show for it, she and Lucian give up and go home. Marjorie is half considering telling Patrick to shove it and staying home and playing video games with Lucian until graduation when she sees a box propped up against their door.

"The fuck?" She asks softly, moving faster to pick up the box and shuffling inside before anyone (Katelyn) can ask questions.

When she opens the box, it's lined with expensive tissue paper with a note on top.

"This is some next level fairytale bullshit," Lucian whispers next to her when she takes the note out of the box and reads it.

_Marjorie,_

_I know how hard it can be to find a gown for something like this. Here's one I think would look great on you._

_Sincerely,_

_Adorara._

Marjorie squints at the signature and chews the inside of her cheek.

"Is everyone in high society this fucking crazy?" Lucian asks.

"I'm going to have to say yes," Marjorie responds, unfolding the tissue paper to reveal the most expensive looking dress she has ever seen.

It's gorgeous, breathtaking, really. The skirt is floor length with an off-the-shoulder neckline, lace up back, and the most delicate lace flowers Marjorie has ever seen, connected to a rich maroon satin belt at the waist. The bodice is gray and so is the skirt's tulle overlay, but beneath it is a satin skirt the same color as the belt. It fits her like a glove.

"Holy shit that is the most gorgeous dress I have ever seen," Lucian says. "You have to wear it."

"Dammit, I don't think I have a choice."

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She and Lucian spend hours googling hair ideas on Pinterest and doing all sorts of insane things to their hair. Most of which were incredibly damaging, but it was fun at least. In the end, they settled on a simple low bun pinned back with flowers.

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Patrick doesn't bring the ball up again. Not really, he more or less makes sure their clothing matches and he reminds her of the date a few times. Other than that, everything goes back to normal. They play video games, eat a lot of Chinese food, and continue to not bother with the more romantic bullshit their relationship probably entails. Marjorie isn't interested in sex, and he knows that. At this point, neither of them even bother with kissing. She thinks attending some stupid charity ball with him is probably romantic enough for an entire lifetime.

Three days before the ridiculous ball, Marjorie is trying on her dress again with the new strappy stilettos she's borrowed from Lucian, when her phone chimes.

She sighs and grabs her phone off of the bed.

 **Patrick:** Apparently the event has been moved up to tonight.

 **Marjorie:** Oh what the fuck are you serious?

 **Patrick:** Unfortunately.

 **Marjorie:** So that gives me what? Three hours to get ready? If that?

 **Patrick:** I'll be sending a car for you in two.

 **Marjorie:** Sending a *CAR*?

 **Patrick:** Yes. Unfortunately, I have to attend to a few things prior to the event and will not be able to pick you up as we originally planned.

 **Marjorie:** O...kay. Are you alright there, bud? You seem a little off...

 **Patrick:** I assure you, everything is fine.

 **Marjorie:** Alright weirdo, I'll throw some makeup on and see you in a few hours I guess.

 **Patrick:** Yes. Wonderful.

Marjorie winces and tosses her phone back onto the bed. Something definitely seemed off with him during that conversation, but she doesn't have time to dwell on that now.

"LUCIANA IMANI SAGE VERSACE ALLISON JONES!" Marjorie screams at the top of her lungs.

Lucian appears in her doorway a few seconds later, breathless and holding a hot pocket. "Nowhere in my middle name does Versace even exist, Or Sage for that matter," she says. "Why in the clit diddling fuck are you screaming?"

"The fucking ball is in two hours and Patrick neglected to tell me until _right_ _fucking now_."

Luciana takes a deep breath and claps her hands together, hot pocket at the center. "I mean this with all of the respect possible for me to give right now. Don't fucking go. You look like a disaster and no amount of work we do in two hours is going to matter."

" _Lucian_!" Marjorie hisses.

"I just want to eat my hot pocket and replay Kingdom Hearts, Marjorie, please don't ruin this for me."

Marjorie glares at her and crosses her arms over her chest.

"No," Luciana says.

Marjorie sticks out her bottom lip.

"Marjorie I swear to crabs."

Marjorie sniffles and sticks her lip out more.

"Marjorie I will disown you."

"We've been best friends since second grade," Marjorie says. "Aren't friends supposed to stick together? Through everything?" She bats her eyelashes.

"Where was this attitude when I wanted to marathon every Star Wars movie three months ago?"

"Fuck. You're right." Marjorie huffs and sits down on the edge of her bed. "I guess I could just go looking like this. I mean I have a dress on. And shoes. And some semblance of undergarments."

"Holy anus dangling crabs, _fine_ ," Lucian says with a sigh, "I'll be your fairy godmother. Or witchdoctor? Fairy necromancer? Can a necromancer even bring fairies back to life? I think I need to do more re-"

"Lucian!" Marjorie shouts, "Just shut up and start drying and pinning my hair while I shove some makeup on my face."

"Damn girl. High society changed you."

Marjorie rolls her eyes and shimmies out of her dress, tossing it onto the bed.

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When the car shows up she's as ready as she's going to get. The shoes squeeze her feet, leaving indentations in her skin, and her hair is already beginning to fall. She and Lucian had to braid it and pin the flowers into it since the twist and bun kept falling out. Clean hair is a good hairdo's worst enemy.

Her makeup is sharp; Black winged eyeliner over shimmering silver eyeshadow with a heavy maroon lipstain that matches the flowers in her hair and the satin bits of her dress. She really does feel like an honest to crabs princess.

The driver gets out of the car and opens the door to the back seat. He doesn't meet Marjorie's eyes, instead he stares off into the distance behind her.

"Thank you," she says, still trying to catch his gaze.

He doesn't say anything in response and she ducks her head, gathering up her skirts and sliding into the back seat. He shuts the door behind her immediately, she barely gets the rest of her skirt in before it's ruined. She hopes his driving is better than his attitude.

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The ride is long and silent. They leave the city behind, the soft glow of the lights fading in the distance behind them. After awhile she can just barely make out the twinkling light of stars in the sky.

She checks her phone repeatedly. Rattling off a few anxious texts to both Lucian and Patrick. Neither of them respond. Eventually she settles on playing a few games on her phone to pass the time.

When the car finally arrives at its destination, there's a line of vehicles in front of her. They're waiting at a giant iron gate to get into what must be the largest estate she's ever seen. She can't even see the house from the road.

The car eases through the gate, caught behind a town car that's moving unbearably slow. Marjorie twiddles her thumbs and takes in the scenery. There are huge trees draped with lights and enormous winding gardens with plants she's never seen before.

They ride up a hill, and at its apex she finally sees the house, looming in the darkness over the grounds. It's like something out of a fairy tale. The architecture is incredible and it looks like a modern day castle. She cannot hold back the gasp that escapes her.

Closer to the house she starts to see crowds of people gathered outside and chatting like they're old friends. They probably are, everyone in high society knows each other. At least, in her experience, which was mostly from movies and hate watching Gossip Girl with Lucian.

When the driver pulls up to the drop off point, Marjorie pulls out her phone and a soft maroon mask. Her hands are shaking, anxiety building up in her chest at the extravagance of it all. She should never have said yes to this.

The driver stops the car and parks. Two attendants approach her door while she's tying the mask behind her head. One of them opens the car door, the other offers her his hand. She hastily takes it and he pulls her out of the car and onto the most uncomfortable shoes she's ever worn.

The door to the car slams shut behind her and the driver speeds away. The attendants stare at her expectantly and she smiles awkwardly at them before she clacks away. She's a little wary about going it alone, but she doesn't have much of a choice.

She glances down at her phone, there's no signal here. She sighs and shoves it into the tiny beaded purse she brought with her and finally looks up at the party. There are a thousand people she doesn't know gathered in the largest garden she has ever seen.

There are a myriad of hedges trimmed to look like Hindu goddesses and more flowers than any person should have a right to have. The entire garden smells so lush and fragrant, the air is almost _sweet_.

However, there was a distinct lack of art and no one else seems to be wearing a mask. After the first few double takes, she removes her mask and shoves it into her purse alongside her phone. Apparently in high society a masquerade isn't the same thing as it is in movies.

She makes her way towards the house. Two large staircases lead up to a giant mahogany door. In front of the stairs is a large fountain. Hordes of strangers gather around it, chatting and laughing effortlessly. None of them even look her direction when she wanders past.

She scans the crowd, searching for Patrick or even Adorara. Neither of them seem to be in the garden, at least not from her vantage point.

She moves towards the edges of the crowd, where the hedges loom large over the garden. She scans the crowd again and that's when she sees him. He looks gorgeous, his long black hair slicked back on his head, face clean shaven, and a soft smile playing on his lips. On his arm, is the most beautiful girl she has ever seen in her life.

She has long straight black hair that flows effortlessly down her back. At the sides, it's twisted out of her face and pinned with pink, white, and blue flowers that match her gown. Her makeup is impeccable, pastel pink eyeliner and sparkly gold lipstick that pops against the dark color of her skin.

Her gown is a work of art. The bodice is pastel pink with gold beading at the neckline and it's detached from the skirt. It would expose her stomach if she didn't have a white and gold sari loosely draped over her. The skirt is navy blue and matches the tuxedo Patrick is wearing. At it's base, the skirt is bordered with pink, white, and gold flowers, tying the entire outfit together in an incredible way.

"Huh," she says, glancing down at her own gown and back up to his navy blue tux. Either Patrick is going for something avant garde, he's color blind, or they don't match at all.

The mystery girl stares up at him with complete adoration in her eyes and Marjorie frowns. Looks like she found the reason he hasn't been responding to her texts.

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She doesn't quite know what to do with herself. Her phone doesn't have any signal and her driver is probably somewhere getting drunk with his buddies. She wouldn't put it past him to drive her back home drunk. He doesn't seem like the nicest guy.

She wanders around, slipping into the mansion in the wake of seeing Patrick with whoever that girl was. At this point, she's not really sure why she's here. Originally, the idea was for her to come as Patrick's date, but he seems to have that covered. She supposes her back up plan could be to find some art to look at, but the mansion seems to be devoid of that. Despite this being some sort of art-charity-maybe-a-masquerade-but-not-really event.

She finds some sort of art in a deserted hallway. It's mostly paintings of landscapes and dogs, but they're much more delightful than actually attending the party.

"Hello, Ms. Diaz," a woman with a high and breathy posh accent says behind her.

She turns and squints at the woman. She looks vaguely familiar, as if she had seen her somewhere before. She's definitely older than Marjorie, much older, with ginger hair piled on top of her head in an elegant bun. Her gown is navy blue and formfitting. It sticks to her hips and stomach and, like Marjorie's own gown, the neckline is off shoulder.

"Ummm," Marjorie responds, watching as her blue eyes narrow slightly and her lips quirk upwards into an honest-to-crabs smirk.

"I'm so glad you could make it," she says, circling around Marjorie like a predator.

"Cool, thanks."

The woman frowns and hums thoughtfully.

Marjorie tries to turn away from her to admire whatever this landscape painting is supposed to be of. Anything is better than this weird conversation with some lady that _obviously_ knows her and she has no idea who she is. This is worse than the last Networking event her marketing professor forced her to go to.

"I think it's time you and I had a chat," the woman says, still gazing down at her intently.

"Lady, I don't even know you," Marjorie says, trying to move away from wherever this conversation seems to be going. "And frankly you're starting to freak me out."

A caterer walks by them then, carrying a silver serving dish laden with champagne. Marjorie swiftly plucks one of the flutes off of the tray, the golden liquid sloshes on the inside of the glass and comes dangerously close to spilling over the sides.

She moves further down the hallway, only stopping to take a few gulps from her glass of champagne. She hopes the woman doesn't follow after her.

She's on her fourth glass of champagne when mystery ginger woman finally approaches her again. She sees her out of the corner of her eye, stalking down a different hallway, with the same predatory expression on her face.

"Ms. Diaz," she says again.

Marjorie smirks and tilts her champagne glass back, letting the sparkling liquid wash over her tongue.

"You are exceptionally rude," the woman chastises and Marjorie raises her eyebrows, turning to look at her with the champagne flute still pressed to her lips.

"I merely wanted to have a chat with you," the woman continues, "about your future with my son."

Something suddenly clicks in Marjorie's head.

"I've looked into your background, Ms. Diaz. I know where you come from. Your family line is incredibly unremarkable and can be traced back to 'The Mexican Cartel' in more ways than one." She pauses here to look at Marjorie with disdain. "Your father is a factory worker and your mother is a receptionist, the two of them hardly made enough money to support you and your horde of mediocre siblings. I cannot have this sort of utter disappointment connected to my son."

"Wooow," Marjorie says into her glass, finally lowering it.

"I would appreciate if you terminated your relationship with him immediately."

Marjorie blinks at her, then bends at her waist to set her nearly empty champagne glass onto the floor. She takes her phone out of her purse, nearly dropping her mask in the process. Dexterity doesn't seem to be her strong point currently.

She pretends to dial a number, any number. It doesn't matter anyways, her phone has absolutely no bars here. She couldn't _actually_ call anyone, even if she wanted to.

"Hello? Excuse me? It's Marjorie Diaz. Yeah. Hi! I'm wondering if you could do something for me. Yes. Can you please tell me..." she trails off, looking at Patrick's mother who is staring at her as if she has just murdered her first born child.

"Hold on a second" She covers the phone with her hand and asks, "What's your name?"

The woman falters for a moment, surprise breaking through her hard as nails exterior. "Amanda Watkins, obviously." Amanda squares her shoulders and looks down her nose at Marjorie.

"'Kay thanks," Marjorie says, pressing her phone back to her ear. "Yeah, hey sorry. You might want to get a pen and paper. Are you ready? I'm wondering if you could tell me when and where I _fucking asked_ for Amanda Watkin's goddamn opinion."

Amanda Watkins's mouth falls open comically and she clutches her chest and exclaims, "Well I _never_!"

Marjorie erupts into a fit of giggles and leans against the wall to steady herself. " _Crabs!_ " she exclaims, slipping down the wall slightly. "That is so exaggeratedly English I can't stand it. Holy crabs."

Amanda Watkins watchers her with a look of utter disdain. "Quiet your laughter this instant, you insolent girl."

This only makes Marjorie laugh harder, tears brimming at the corners of her eyes. She nearly doubles over, clutching at her abdomen.

An elderly woman peeks down the hallway with a frown on her face and glares at where Marjorie is half propped up on the wall. She doesn't look very amused either.

Marjorie's mouth clicks shut and she takes a shaky breath in through her nose. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, but she doesn't really mean it.

"You're going to be sorry," the elderly woman says and she's suddenly much closer than Marjorie realized.

"Wait..what?" Marjorie asks when she feels the sharp prick of a needle entering her neck. She bats at it with her hands.

"What did you do?" her words slur together.

"What I needed to," Amanda Watkins answers.

Her voice sounds far off and distorted to Marjorie's ears. Marjorie grimaces and tries to focus, black slowly eating at her vision as she goes unconscious.

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She wakes up to the sound of her phone chiming loudly. Her head is pounding and her body aches. Her mouth is so dry her tongue feels like sandpaper moving against her palate and teeth. She lets out a long, low groan of distress and grapples for her phone.

It chimes again.

And again.

And _again_. Before she can even open her eyes..

She feels as though someone has superglued her eyelids shut, but with a little willpower she manages to force them open.

The sun is a deadly laser. It shines directly into her eyes, dust particles dancing in the murderous beams. She hisses and closes her eyes immediately, bowing her head and moving away from where the sunlight is an assault to her senses.

"Fuck," she curses under her breath.

"Ah," a familiar voice says, "I see you're awake."

Her eyes fly open despite the brightness of the room. All of the colors and light blur together for a moment and her eyes ache and tear up. Sharp pain bursts like stars at the back of her eyes and in her temples, but she doesn't dare close them.

" _Mom_?" She asks in shock.

She hasn't been home in years, she rarely calls, barely even texts. Growing up she couldn't wait to get out of this house and away from her family and if the twisting feeling in her gut and the frightening increase of her heart rate is any indication, that feeling hasn't changed.

"We missed you, you know," her mother says, but it doesn't sound convincing.

Marjorie doesn't respond. Instead she stares down at her old pink and blue tweety bird bedspread. She hasn't seen this bed since high school.

"What were you even thinking?" Her mother continues, "the driver told me everything that happened. How could you do something like this? _You_ of all people?"

Marjorie continues to stare at the bed, willing this altercation and any conversation that goes with it to disappear. Maybe she could disappear herself, she wasn't picky.

"How could you think someone like that could ever love you?" her mother asks, "I thought I brought you up right. I raised you to be independent, not to go after someone like _that_."

Marjorie traces over the shapes on her bedspread with her fingers.

"Women like you don't get men like that. He was only playing games with you. Four years of college and you're _still_ too stupid to tell the difference."

"You deserve this."

Marjorie frowns down at the bed, her hands stilling on the fabric. Her eyes and nose sting with the presence of unshed tears, but she refuses to give her mother the satisfaction.

Hours go by before she has the energy to text anyone. Graduation is tomorrow and she's nine hours away from school with no transportation. Her phone, much like her self-esteem and her sanity, is hanging on by a thread. She has 9% battery left and she prays it lasts long enough to call someone.

She dials Lucian's number.

"Oh my actual G-O-D, Marjorie." Lucian answers on the first ring. She sounds completely out of her mind with worry.

"Lucian, I'm at my parent's."

There's a long pause on the other line.

"What do you mean you're at your parent's?"

"I don't really want to talk about that, but I need a way back."

"Why? Where's your car?"

"Probably in the apartment lot where I left it."

Lucian takes a deep breath. "Okay Marjorie I'm really confused and scared for you, I need you to tell me what's going on."

Marjorie sighs, and buries her face in her hands. Frustrated tears burn in her eyes and she doesn't even try to stop them.

"Marjorie?" Lucian asks. Her voice is soft and filled with sympathy.

"Luc, I fucked up. I fucked up _bad_ ," she says, taking a deep shuddering breath.

She tells Lucian everything.

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Lucian drives through the night to get her. They're both going to be exhausted tomorrow when they finally make it to graduation, but neither of them care.

The entire car ride is exhausting. They're hyped up on red bull, coffee, and soda while they shove as many sugary treats down their throats as they possibly can, just to stay awake.

When Marjorie parks the car outside of their apartment at 7am, they barely have enough time to shower before they need to be at the stadium to line up in the hall.

"This whole situation is the worst," Lucian says, applying sparkly gold eyeliner to her eyelid. She and Marjorie are hastily applying makeup in the bathroom, sharing the large mirror.

Marjorie laughs. "Yeah. I didn't think people still cared about poor vs rich anymore or any dumb shit like that. I literally thought that woman was joking. This is just so surreal."

Lucian hums thoughtfully, fixing the wings on her eyeliner to match. "To be fair, you probably only think that because you've never really lived the whole high society life. I'm pretty sure who their kid dates and marries is some sort of huge deal for them."

Marjorie sighs and grabs her red lip stain. She and Lucian were doing makeup to match their school colors: red and gold. She had already applied sparkly gold eyeshadow, but opted for black liner. Her skin tone wasn't dark enough to pull off gold.

"I bet they get off on it," Lucian continues, "controlling their kids lives like that for some sort of sick social climbing ritual."

"This is something I will never understand," Marjorie says, lining her lips with red before filling it in. The lip stain feels strange and tingly as it dries. "I'm actually sort of relieved I saw Patrick for what he was. I don't think I could ever exist in whatever Game of Thrones type bullshit this is."

Lucian snorts. "Oh holy shit, do you think Patrick is like Joffrey?"

Marjorie chokes and hits her chest a few times. "But he seems so nice!"

"That is exactly something Sansa Stark would say," Lucian accuses, setting down her gold liner, finally satisfied with the way it looks. She grabs her garnet lip liner.

"Fuck, you're right."

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Patrick finds her at graduation, waiting in the hall.

"Let me explain," he says. He looks disheveled, his gown wrinkled, his cap askew.

Marjorie looks him up and down, frowning. "What?" she asks, voice strained, "no hello?"

"Marjorie," he says, his tone pleading.

Marjorie holds up her hand. "Yeah, Patrick. Pattykat. Bro. Your mom and grandma seem to-"

"My grandmother is dead," Patrick interrupts.

"Wow, that was fast," Marjorie says, humming thoughtfully before she opens her mouth to continue.

"No, I mean. Both my grandmothers have been dead for at least two years," Patrick says, "You're probably thinking of one of the servants."

" _Servants_ ," Marjorie says with a harsh laugh, "Oh my crabs, and I thought we could actually be together. I thought maybe we'd have something in common."

Marjorie paces back and forth in front of him while other people in the grad line look on. She doesn't mean to make this much of a scene, but he's the one who chose to confront her here after the insanity that was her first actual glimpse into his world.

"We have plenty in common, Marjorie, _please_."

"No, listen. I super don't appreciate being drugged and unknowingly transported to my parent's house in the middle of the night by strangers. Your mother and her _servant_ ," she spits the word as if it's poison in her mouth, "left me _stranded_ there. In a house I haven't set foot into in _four_ years."

"Listen, I'm sor-"

"No _you listen_ , Patrick. Lucian and I had to drive all night just to make it to graduation on time. This is something I have been waiting for the _entire time_ I've been in college and your mother almost took that away from me. I don't even know what her _problem_ is other than me being _poor_ or whatever, but dude I am starting to think pursuing anything with you is _so_ not worth it."

"I love you," Patrick says, getting down on his knees in front of her.

Marjorie's face flushes red in embarrassment as a hundred girls swoon. A chorus of "awws" and people slapping their hands over their hearts fills her ears.

"Get up," she whispers harshly, approaching him and trying to pull him to his feet.

"Marry him!" A few girls shout.

Lucian peeks at them from her place in line, her eyes wide and questioning.

"Listen to me Patrick Watkins," Marjorie says, letting go of his hands and clearing her throat. She tries to keep her voice as low as she can. "You're not very smart or motivated. Good on you for having this education to fall back on just in case being a rich high society asshole doesn't pay off, but I don't have time for this. I need someone who is serious about having a career and bettering their life and not just someone who relies on family money because let's be real here, Patrick, your family isn't all that nice."

Patrick looks hurt, his eyes shining with tears.

"And dude, if you really loved me and were serious at all about our relationship you wouldn't have taken that other girl to your art masquerade thing. Which, by the way didn't even have any art involved." She's still pissed about that last part.

"I'm not with her," he says like it'll make some sort of difference.

"Honestly," Marjorie says, "I don't really care if you are."

"She's nobody, my parents wanted me to-"

"See, Patrick that's the problem. You do everything your parents want you to do. Their money and lifestyle is holding you hostage. I can't be with somebody like that. I don't want to."

Marjorie turns to take her place in line.

Patrick struggles to his feet behind her. "Why?" He asks, his voice is a whisper.

Marjorie turns to him again, stopping just shy of her place against the wall. "Because," she says in a tone that is finite and stern, "I'm worth so much more than gold."


End file.
